


Celestial Pining, Demonic Angst

by stormsonjupiter



Series: Angsty, Anxious Angel and the Demonic Paramour [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Aziraphale, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Dumbasses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Heavy Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Michael sheen said Aziraphale is a bottom so..., Mutual Pining, Pining, Rating: M, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), aziraphale falls in love with crowley when he saves the books, crying aziraphale, crying crowley, good omens - Freeform, the eagle in the church explained, why do I keep doing such emotional smut idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormsonjupiter/pseuds/stormsonjupiter
Summary: Crowley saves Aziraphale's books, which sparks something in Aziraphale. Something that Crowley has felt for a long time.Chapter 1: Aziraphale's perspective. No overt smut (but almost), much angst,  [Complete]Chapter 2: Crowley's perspective. Angst, smutty tone, solo M. [Complete]Chapter 3: This is the chapter you turn to if you just want smut. Omnipotent narrator, both perspectives. [Complete]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy writing fics that feature the same event from two different perspectives. The tone will switch drastically for Crowley's POV of the same event, so be warned. 
> 
> I have no beta, so while I have edited, there may be typos. I apologize in advance.

The books were saved.

Aziraphale stared at the demon, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

“Come on, angel. Lift home?”

The fire engulfing the church’s ruins felt cool in comparison to the blaze that erupted in Aziraphale’s chest. It tingled as spread, surging into his abdomen with fluttering pangs, and traveling up his spine with an acute shiver. His vision narrowed as he unblinkingly watched his darkly clad champion saunter away from him into the dusty night.

The angel was completely stunned, unable to speak and unable to breathe. Everything slowed— the flickering of the flames, the swaying of the demon, the droning of the planes overhead— until Aziraphale found himself floating in-between the fabric of time and space itself. He was stuck, unmoving, firmly imprinted into a the infinite essence that ties together all reality, transcending age and epoch. 

And he never stopped looking at Crowley.

“He saved them, my books,” the angel whispered quietly to himself. “He remembered, but how did he…”

He couldn’t complete the thought. 

The demon reached his Bentley, which had also miraculously also survived the bomb’s fallout. He pulled the passenger-side handle and swung open the door with gratuitous bravado, and looked back to find that the angel hadn’t moved. 

“Oye!” he shouted to Aziraphale. “Come on, let’s go.”

Crowley’s command, coupled with the whine of approaching sirens, drew Aziraphale back into reality. He found the strength to move his legs with slow, heavy steps and walked to the car. He clutched the satchel of books with a tight grip, and the handle pulled at the skin of his palm, the weight of it swaying unforgivingly in his clenched hand. 

But he barely noticed the chaffing of his skin. Nor did he notice the taste of metal and ash swirling in his mouth after the explosion. Perhaps most surprising of all, he was also hardly aware of the burning, chemical odor emanating from his hair and clothes. Normally, Aziraphale would be worrying over how long it would take to get the stench of a bomb out of his precious overcoat, the coat he had kept spotless for years. 

But Aziraphale was not acting normally. 

He didn’t feel very normal at all. He felt…well, considering he had just been in an explosion, he felt better than normal.

As he slowly neared Crowley, he directed his gaze to the ground. He feared looking directly into the demon’s face. ‘What would he see?’ Aziraphale wondered to himself in panic. ‘What would I see?’

Keeping his eyes averted, he tried to get into the car quickly, but he tripped and nearly dropped the satchel into the gutter. In rapid response, the demon caught him by the arm to steady him. At the touch Aziraphale glanced into the Crowley’s face, gasping and blushing with embarrassment. 

The demon’s brow was raised, his mouth slightly agape. His direct gaze was blocked from Aziraphale, covered by black lenses, but the angel couldn’t help but feel as though his eyes were piercing through him like a snake bite. 

Crowley saw Aziraphale. He had always seen Aziraphale. And now Aziraphale knew that, and was embarrassed at being the object of the demon’s gaze. 

“Alright there, Angel?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s heart beat wildly in his chest. ‘Surely he can hear it,’ the angel thought with fear.

“Ha, erm, yes, it’s um…thank you,” he sputtered, and Crowley released his hand from its grip angel’s arm. 

They looked at one another, Aziraphale desperately wondering what the demon was thinking, but Crowley saying nothing. The demon grunted slightly, turned, and walked to the other side of the vehicle. 

Aziraphale exhaled sharply, sat down, and fumbled with the door to get it closed. 

‘Oh, oh God, what is this?’ he thought to himself before Crowley entered the driver’s seat. His mind was whirring in confusion, and he desperately clutched at the satchel situated on his lap. ‘Get ahold of yourself. You’re an angel, for heaven’s sake.’

Crowley slithered into the car and shut the door with effortless grace. Aziraphale’s heart felt like it would burst forth from its corporeal prison.

“Your bookshop, then?” the demon asked with a slight tilt of the head. 

“Y-yes, well, rather,” Aziraphale replied stiffly, his shoulders tense and practically touching his ears. “I mean—where else is there to go, really?” 

‘Except back to wherever you go,’ Aziraphale thought to himself. 

He tried to smile nonchalantly at the demon, but the faux grin must have been a little too toothy. 

“You alright, Angel?” Crowley asked with a serious timbre. His fedora, with a brim that Aziraphale thought was ridiculously large, grazed the ceiling of the car as he turned to face the angel. The demon’s jaw jutted out slightly, inquisitively, and his lower row of teeth were slightly bared. His alluring lips were slightly pursed.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s mouth, hypnotized for a brief second, before blinking himself back into cognition. 

“I’m fine, Crowley, really. I’m just a bit shook up, is all.” It wasn’t a lie. He was shaken, shaken right down to his celestial core. 

“Right, well,” the demon responded, and turned on the car. The engine roared briefly, before settling down to a vibrating murmur as they wended their way through the dark, abandoned city streets. Bombs were dropping on the other side of London, making the ground quake. 

Aziraphale stared straight ahead. The Bentley’s bright headlights were the main source of illumination, and the roads themselves were devoid of both cars and people.

‘I ought to say something,’ Aziraphale thought to himself, ‘I can’t let this moment pass.’

“Should I call you Anthony?” he asked, remembering their exchange in the church. 

“Nah—I mean—only if you like. Just thought I’d give it a try, you know?” 

“Of course,” said Aziraphale attentively. “And I should be happy to oblige—”

“Don’t worry about it. Just a thing, a thing I was trying.”

“Of course, my dear. And it does suit you, I think, in some way. Although, wasn’t that the name of a saint you tempted in the desert?”

“Saint Antony! Yeah, that’s the one. Back, what, 1700 years ago? Gosh that was fun. Lots of snakes. I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Well of course I do,” Aziraphale answered with a supercilious tone. “You failed. He wasn’t tempted and wound up in heaven, even after all that overzealous demonic fanfare.”

The angel had found his voice again, and could vocalize his superiority over Crowley. Aziraphale was angel. Crowley was a demon. This was the point that had to be maintained. 

Sure, Crowley had rescued him and his books. And sure, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel were gripping with a kind of supernatural beauty. And so what if his lips and tongue seemed sweet and wet and appetizing. He was a demon. He was fallen. He was…

‘Absolutely wonderful,’ Aziraphale thought in spite of himself, regretting having said anything about the name Anthony.

“So I don’t deserve that name then, I guess, is that what you’re saying?” Crowley asked.

“No, no, it’s not that my dear fellow, it’s just…”

“What, Angel?”

“I…I think Crowley is…nice.”

“Nice? PAH. I didn’t take it to be nice, Angel.”

“Well, alright, but nevertheless..”

“Nice. Crowley. Pfft. Nice. What would they say downstairs, to a nice name, well I tell you what they’d say,” Crowley was on a bit of a tangent now. “They’d say ‘here nice demon is a nice pot of boiling sulfur for you to spend 1,000 years in. Nice.”

Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to say. His head was swimming with emotion, and his heart was thumping wildly. He felt a strange mixture of pity for Crowley, anger at himself for making the demon agitated, and a physical yearning to be close to the demon, to wrap his arms about him in thankful hug as he buried his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck. His stomach fluttered.

So he sat in the passenger seat, holding the satchel of books tightly on his lap. Crowley eventually stopped talking, so Aziraphale tried once again.

“What I meant to say, that is, what I had wished to convey was that…”

Crowley glanced quickly at the angel, then back to the road.

Aziraphale steeled himself. “I like Crowley.”

The angel felt nervous, as he waited for the demon to say something back.

“Oh,” was all Crowley said, with a softness Aziraphale didn’t expect.

The two sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the Bentley loudly purring its way through London. The shaking from the bombing had eventually come to a halt, but sirens resounded through the streets with high-pitched wails.

Aziraphale had scarcely taken a breath after confessing that he liked Crowley—of course he wasn’t just talking about the name, though the name was pleasing to him. 

Crowley. Crooowleyyy.. The name started in the back of the throat and worked its way to the teeth, forcing the jaw to open slightly and the lips to form a nice “o” that eventually turned into a smile at the final “ee” syllable while the tongue danced on the teeth.

Saying his name was like a moan. Crowley. Cr-ooh-leeey. 

Oh. 

Aziraphale never before realized how uttering Crowley’s name made his mouth imitate a groan of sexual ecstasy.

This is probably because the angel had never experienced sexual ecstasy. But now he was…curious.

They arrived at the bookshop. The streets were dark, empty, and relatively quiet. Sirens still wailed in the distance. 

Crowley stopped the car, turned off the ignition, and looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale, still clutching at the satchel of books on his lap turned to look at Crowley. They got eye contact—at least the angel was pretty sure they were getting eye contact. The demon still wore his dark lenses. 

Aziraphale felt like he was melting. 

“Would you like to come in for a…nightcap?” He asked nervously. 

The demon’s slightly smacked his lips and turned them upwards into a wry little smile. 

“A nightcap, angel?”

“I do have a bottle of brandy. I’ve had it since before the war—rations you know. Been keeping it in case, you know, there was reason to…celebrate.”

“Aren’t you worried that your side will see us?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, well, I’m sure their attention is focused elsewhere at the moment.”

Crowley let out a soft chuckle. “Alright, then, Angel” Crowley answered, and the two exited the car and made their way into the bookshop. 

The two sat in the back room, which was in complete disarray with books and papers strewn over tables and shelves in no order that was apparent to the onlooker. Aziraphale, of course, knew exactly where everything was. 

The angel brought out a dusty bottle of brandy, and poured two hearty servings. Crowley took off his fedora, throwing it onto a couch, before collapsing next to it on some cushions. His legs were spread widely, and there wasn’t much room for Aziraphale to join him, so he pulled up a chair, and handed the demon his brandy while he sat down. 

“Cheers,” he said to Crowley, and the two clinked glasses. 

“This war’s a bloody mess,” said Crowley after taking a long swig. “The horrors these humans come up with..”

“It’s dreadful,” Aziraphael agreed with a sigh. 

Crowley removed his glasses, placing them on the table next to him, and Aziraphale tried to sneak a furtive glance to admire their lovely hue. 

His heart skipped a beat when Crowley met his gaze, and the angel averted his eyes quickly. 

‘That was close,’ Aziraphale thought to himself.

The two sat in silence, sipping their brandy, letting its harsh sweetness spread into their corporeal forms.

“Crowley,” the angel eventually asked after feeling a little more relaxed. “Why did you do that for me?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t let you embarrass yourself…”

“No, not that. The books, I mean. Why?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, whose heart was now beating wildly. He was dripping with anticipation for the demon’s response. 

Crowley opened his mouth, as if to speak, but shut it. He shifted his position on the couch, and leaned in closer to Aziraphale. He looked at him in his eyes, and with a tilt of his head, he slowly moved his gaze down the angel’s torso, passing over his groin, and stopping at the knee rested dangerously close to Crowley. 

Aziraphale didn’t move. He was nervous and felt naked, exposed, underneath the demon’s snakelike gaze. It was as enticing as it was scary. 

The demon blinked and looked back up into Aziraphale’s face. The demon wasn’t smiling, but there was something behind his eyes, something almost painful. 

Without breaking eye contact with Aziraphale, Crowley lifted the hand that wasn’t holding the brandy snifter, and began to move it, slowly and gracefully, toward the angel’s knee, fingers extended and slightly shaking.

The movement stirred something inside Aziraphale making him gasp with anticipation. At the gasp, however, Crowley stopped his hand, holding it aloft some five or so inches away from the angel’s knee. 

“I…I think you know, Aziraphale” Crowley whispered with a low, velvety murmur. Aziraphale tried to speak, say anything in response, but couldn’t find the words. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he stared with frightened longing at the demon in front of him. 

Crowley then leaned back into the couch and downed the rest of his brandy. 

“Well, I best be off,” he said with a tone of finality, grabbing his hat and glasses and not looking at the angel. He set the glass down on a table. 

Aziraphale didn’t want him to leave. Pangs of fear and longing swirled inside of him like a tempest. His face was hot and flushed, and he was somewhat drunk—from the brandy or from the desire for Crowley he could not rightly say.

“Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, Angel,” the demon said as he left quickly.

“W—wait,” Aziraphale finally found spoke, but it was too late. Crowley had left, and Aziraphale was alone. 

When the beating in his chest eventually calmed, he looked about the empty room, his eyes resting on Crowley’s brandy snifter.

“Aahh,” Aziraphale uttered with delight, and he picked up the glass. He moved himself onto the couch where Crowley had sat, and leaned against the backrest. He inspected the snifter for any traces of Crowley’s lips

When he espied the location where Crowley’s mouth may have pressed, he brought his index finger to delicately touch the glass. When he did, he exhaled with desperation and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“Croowwlleeyy,” the name poured forth from Aziraphale’s mouth in a breathy moan. 

He then realized that he wanted something, desperately, and if he tried very, very hard, he knew he could have it. A warmth surged throughout his body, and he felt a prickling in his thighs that begged for touch. It was tantalizing. 

Aziraphale took his free hand and pressed it against his upper thigh to assuage the prickling, following a path up to his groin, digging his fingers into his trousers so that he could feel them drag over the muscle. His hips began to move, seemingly of their own volition, in a rhythmic grind, slightly thrusting up. His hand stopped, resting at the cleft between his leg and hip, and he felt waves of pleasure surge over his body. His hips continued to gyrate.

The other hand pressed the snifter to his lips. His mouth was open, and soft, breathy groans clouded the glass in small puffs that quickly evaporated. His tongue ventured out and he licked the rim, imagining the demon’s tongue touching the same spot.

A warmth surged suddenly into his loins, and he opened his eyes with a surprised start. He panted…in desire but also in fear. He set down the glass, and decided he’d better sober up.

Whatever that was, however exciting and beautiful it was…he wasn’t ready.


	2. A nightcap, angel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter recounts the events of last chapter from Crowley's perspective. 
> 
> Solo M, lots of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading on. No beta, so apologies for any type-o's, I do my best to edit.

“Come on, Angel. Lift home?”

Crowley smiled to himself as he walked to the Bentley, which had of course survived the bomb. He didn’t want Aziraphale, the pompous ass, to see that he was smiling. He had to remain suave, and that meant not letting your guard down. 

But Crowley’s heart melted just a little at seeing the expression on Aziraphale’s stupid, beautiful face when he handed him the books he’d save with a little demonic miracle.

He didn’t save the humans, of course. After all, they could have left when he'd warned them of the bomb. They had a choice. They chose wrong. But the books, well, they would have just been innocent victims in the whole thing. 

Plus, if Crowley had let the books be destroy, he would have had to put up with Aziraphale complaining about it for the rest of time, and he’d really rather not listen to that. It would have annoyed him back into snakehood.

Crowley knew deep down that he’d do anything to alleviate Aziraphale’s discomfort and displeasure. In part, it was because seeing the angel in distress really, really annoyed the demon. But also, seeing the way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up whenever the demon did something for him….well, it gave Crowley a sense of purpose that he really hadn’t felt since tempting Eve in the garden.

He had been so lost in his thoughts, musing over the angel’s face at receiving the books, that he didn’t realize Aziraphale hadn’t followed him to the Bentley. He opened the door, and looked behind him, only to see the angel was still standing in the fallout. 

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ he thought to himself, before calling out to Aziraphale.

“Oye, Angel! Come on, let’s go!”

Aziraphale slowly, stiffly walked to the car. He seemed sheepish, Crowley thought. ‘Probably embarrassed by the whole situation. Well he should be! Trying to be a spy, the very notion is absurd. Stick to books you old fool.’

The angel approached the car and tripped slightly. Crowley caught him by the arm, and Aziraphale looked up at him with his pale blue eyes. They seemed particularly vulnerable right now. ‘It’s alright, angel,’ Crowley thought, ‘I’m here. I have you. I’ll look out for you.’

“You alright there, Angel?”

“Ha, erm, yes, it’s um…thank you,” the angel stammered. 

They looked at one another, and Crowley could see something different in Aziraphale’s countenance. Normally he just had a dopey, thankful, but still somehow haughty expression whenever Crowley helped him get out of a jam. But this was new. The angel looked, well, humbled, powerless, and a little scared.

‘Is he scared of...me?’ the demon wondered, as he let go of the angel’s arm and walked over to the driver’s side of the car.

When he situated himself at the wheel, he tilted his head slightly to the side to look at Aziraphale.

“Your bookshop, then?”

“Y-yes, well, rather, I mean—where else is there to go, really?” Aziraphale replied with a smile that was…well, bloody adorable. But panicked. And it did not match whatever expression his eyes were making. Something was definitely wrong.

“You alright, Angel?” Crowley asked.

It took a moment for Aziraphale to respond. “I’m fine, Crowley, really. I’m just a bit shook up, is all.” 

“Right, well,” the demon responded, and turned on the car, and drove down the dark streets of London. Normally he’d speed, see how fast the Bentley could take them. But he wanted the moment with the angel to last, so he drove more slowly than usual.

“Should I call you Anthony?” the angel asked eventually.

“Nah—I mean—only if you like. Just thought I’d give it a try, you know?” 

“Of course,” said Aziraphale attentively. “And I should be happy to oblige—”

“Don’t worry about it. Just a thing, a thing I was trying.”

“Of course, my dear. And it does suit you, I think, in some way. Although, wasn’t that the name of a saint you tempted in the desert?”

Crowley was surprised at Aziraphale’s memory. Saint Antony had been a wonderfully pious man, so pious he locked his orphaned sister up in a convent to wander the desert alone to find himself. Hearing the young ladies soft cries at night really did make haunting the man all the sweeter.

“Saint Antony! Yeah, that’s the one. Back, what, 1700 years ago? Gosh that was fun. Lots of snakes. I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Well of course I do,” Aziraphale answered with his usual holier-than-thou tone. “You failed. He wasn’t tempted and wound up in heaven, even after all that overzealous demonic fanfare.”

“So I don’t deserve that name then, I guess, is that what you’re saying?” Crowley asked.

“No, no, it’s not that my dear fellow, it’s just…”

“What, Angel?”

“I…I think Crowley is…nice.”

There was a pang in Crowley’s heart at the word. He hated that word. Loathed it.

“Nice? PAH. I didn’t take it to be nice, Angel.”

“Well, alright, but nevertheless..”

“Nice. Crowley. Pfft. Nice. What would they say downstairs, to a nice name, well I tell you what they’d say,” Crowley was on a bit of a tangent now. “They’d say ‘here nice demon is a nice pot of boiling sulfur for you to spend 1,000 years in. Nice.”

Crowley continued mumbling incoherently, until finally Aziraphale spoke again.

“What I meant to say, that is, what I had wished to convey was that…I like Crowley.”

The confession his Crowley like a ton of bricks. It rang in his ears like music, and his heart swelled. 

“Oh,” was all he could muster in response.

The two sat in silence for the rest of the journey to Aziraphale’s shop. When they arrived, Crowley turned off the ignition, and looked at Aziraphale, who sat stiffly in the seat beside him. He still had a bit of that dopey expression from earlier, a sort of anxiety that seemed triggered by—-what Crowley couldn’t rightly say.

“Would you like to come in for a…nightcap?” Aziraphale asked.

“A nightcap, angel?” Crowley asked, smiling at the implications. Of course, Aziraphale had no idea that this was a coded message asking for sex…right? The angel couldn’t know, couldn’t possibly have meant it in that way. But Crowley loved pretending that he did know, that the angel did just ask the demon in for a late-night fuck.

“I do have a bottle of brandy. I’ve had it since before the war—rations you know. Been keeping it in case, you know, there was reason to…celebrate.”

“Aren’t you worried that your side will see us?” Crowley asked, teasingly, and with a hint of irony.

“Oh, well, I’m sure their attention is focused elsewhere at the moment.”

Crowley let out a soft chuckle. “Alright, then, Angel” Crowley answered, and the two exited the car and made their way into the bookshop. 

Crowley collapsed onto the couch in the back room, and made himself comfortable. It was a nice room—a bit stuffy and overcrowded, but it felt and smelled like Aziraphale. It was like being in the angel’s inner sanctum, and Crowley relished it.

The angel handed him a snifter of brandy. It had been a generous pour.

“Cheers,” Aziraphale said, and they clinked glasses.

Crowley took a long sip, letting the harsh sweetness burn his tongue before warming its way down his gullet. 

“This war’s a bloody mess,” he said. “The horrors these humans come up with..”

“It’s dreadful,” Aziraphael agreed with a sigh. 

Crowley removed his glasses, placing them on the table next to him. He felt safe with Aziraphale. He didn’t have to hide here in the bookshop.

He looked up and Aziraphale was staring at him, but in a way that he hadn’t stared at him before. The angel looked away quickly, but Crowley smiled. As a temptation demon, Crowley knew all the looks, the visual queues, of someone who was on the edge. Aziraphale had given Crowley that look a few times, but never quite like this. 

Crowley’s heart began to rush, and he felt a heat built up in his abdomen and work its way down to his groin.

‘Perhaps the angel does know what a nightcap means,’ the demon thought to himself, and he began to feel a little emboldened by the alcohol coursing through his body. He let his mind wander.

Eventually Aziraphale spoke. “Crowley, why did you do that for me?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t let you embarrass yourself…”

“No, not that. The books, I mean. Why?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale. The angel’s face was desperate, wanting. His pale eyes looked almost pained at the question, and the demon saw that he was heavily breathing. If Aziraphale had been a human, Crowley would have felt it his demonly duty to tempt him into sex. It would not have been hard. 

But Aziraphale wasn’t a human, and Crowley didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. But still, there was that expression of longing. Aziraphale wanted something. Did he want…him?

‘Am I imagining this?’ Crowley wondered as he slowly looked down the angel’s body. His chest heaved with heavy breath, his groin—well, no sign of erection there, perhaps no surprise—and his knee…well his knee had inched dangerously close to the demon. It was so very close, begging for touch.

‘Dare I try?’ Crowley thought, and looked back up into Aziraphale’s face. The angel’s mouth was open and his brow furrowed in an intoxicating expression that drove Crowley into a fit of passion that he worked very hard to mask. His cock began to stiffen, and he now desperately wanted to hear an ecstatic moan escape the panting mouth of his Angel companion. 

Crowley moved gently, with as much self restraint as he could muster. Without breaking eye contact with Aziraphale he lifted a hand, slowly, close to Aziraphale’s knee. 

The movement make Aziraphale gasp, which sounded almost frantic. It seemed to Crowley that he had scared Aziraphale, so he staved his hand from touching the angel. 

Crowley had wanted Aziraphale for thousands of years, and this was the closest he had ever come to having him. But he didn’t know if the angel wanted him back. It looked like it, but….but then again, Aziraphale had always been sure to draw the line between angel and demon. It was a line that broke Crowley’s heart, but one he would respect to the extent that he could.

He daren't make the first move, instead resolving to say: 

“I…I think you know, Aziraphale.”

He waited for a moment, seeing if the angel would do anything, but he remained still. The stillness, the silence, this was absolute torture, and Crowley felt a sense of panic, a sudden urgent need to leave. 

He downed the rest of his brandy. 

“Well, I best be off,” he said, grabbing his hat and glasses and not looking at the angel. He was beginning to feel a bit foolish for letting himself believe, even for a moment, that Aziraphale might want him carnally.

“Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, Angel,” the demon said trying to be cordial, as he ran as quickly as he could outside of the angel’s bookshop.

‘You daft wanker,’ Crowley thought to himself as he slammed the car door. ‘He’s an angel, you’re a demon. He’d never think of you in that way.’

His mind was swimming, his heart beating with anger and lust. And notably, his cock was still very hard.

He slammed his head back against the headrest and looked up to the ceiling. 

“Ffffuck Azzzssiraphale,” he moaned with a little hiss. 

He sat, panting in his car, seething with a livid ardor that flowed throughout his body. The streets were still unlit and empty, but his eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Although he was parked on a public street, he felt (in that moment) very alone and secluded in the cab of his Bentley.

That was the closest he’d ever come to revealing his deepest desire to Aziraphale, a desire he had kept quiet since the walls of Eden, and now—now—he’d nearly let it come pouring out like a fool. He wanted the angel, to grab him by the lapels and kiss him roughly. He wanted to bite the angel's neck and inhale his scent as he ripped off the ridiculously stuffy attire. He wanted to feel the angel's skin against his own, and wanted to writhe underneath Aziraphale's celestial aura.

“Fuck!” He yelled, slamming his head against the headrest once again. He was angry with himself, so angry. And angry with Aziraphale, the stuck-up prick and his holier-than-though countenance. The fucking, heavenly tease. "Does he know how he tortures me?" Crowley asked himself in pained desperation.

He looked down and saw the outline of his cock pressing tightly against his trousers. It ached for freedom, yearned for release.

Crowley hissed at the sight and snapped his fingers. Suddenly the demon was completely naked from the waist down. 

He stared at himself, noting his turgid length in the dark. He was long, and slender, and relatively straight. It wasn’t anything particularly special, so he thought, but it was the cock that appeared when he willed it all those millennia ago. 

His breathing had slowed but he was still intent, still enflamed, and still aroused as hell. 

He gingerly brought his hand to his shaft and let out a soft hiss at the touch. He dragged his middle and index finger up and down the underside, feeling its tumescence and silky skin. He was throbbing with desire, but he wouldn’t give himself satisfied completion…at least, not yet. 

Crowley loved the tease, the anticipation of pleasure, the ache in his cock that begged for fast pumping. Orgasming was ecstatic, but staving off the ecstasy to build the pleasure to an intolerable degree was a skill he’d acquired over thousands of years. He needed to feel the anticipation build. 

After dancing his two fingers delicately along his shaft for a pleasurable minute he noticed precum glistening at the head. 

“Oooff,” he moaned as he dipped his fingers into the wetness, and spread it around his head, and eventually wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He watched himself as he slowly pumped, dragging his hand up and down the length with slow, purposeful drags. His teeth were bared and he let out a hiss in pleasure. 

He imagined Aziraphale, his pale eyes staring at him, his mouth smiling at him. He imagined that he made Aziraphale smile like that with his cock. He imagined pressing their bodies together and grinding his dick against the angel’s thigh as Aziraphale gently pulled on his hair. He imagined their tongues intertwined as moans of pleasure escaped Aziraphale’s perfect mouth. 

What would Aziraphale’s face look like, he wondered, when the angel was in the throws of carnal passion. Would his eyes roll back and his lips turn up in a smile? Would his brow furrow and jaw drop the way it had when he almost touched his knee? 

Crowley wanted to know. He imagined it all. Of course, he always felt a little ashamed of imagining Aziaphale. The angel was far too holy to appear in his most twisted sexual fantasies. He knew this, knew that Aziraphale was better—deserved better. But the shame only seemed to fuel Crowley’s lust. Perhaps it was the demon in him. 

And he pumped, slightly faster. His jaw dropped as he watched himself get closer to climax. His tongue flickered out, and pressed it against his top row of teeth while his hips began to grind, matching the rhythm his fist set. 

“Oh, yesss,” he hissed, as his body tingled with pangs of pleasure, rushing from his cock to his ass and thighs. His heart beat quickly. 

He wished, at that moment, he had something for his ass, and so he brought his free hand to his mouth and sucked on his index and middle finger. Once they were dripping with saliva, he spread his legs as wide as the space would allow, and tried to slide them up his cleft and inside. The car, however, was not an ideal space for ass play, so he only really was able to get one finger to massage the ache around the orifice. 

It did the trick.

His hips bucked with an intense wave of pleasure. He was close to completion, nearly there. He took the hand that was around his cock, and spit on the palm for lubrication, and went back to furiously stroking. The movement made a small flapping noise as his speed increased, his hips writhing at the sensations rippling down from his shaft and from his ass. 

A warmth began to build in his ass and cock, and worked its way to a burning heat, and Crowley knew at this point he couldn’t stop, so he increased his speed.

“Y-y-yessssss,” he hissed, “Ooh, f-f-fuck, Azzirra—“ Crowley couldn’t finish saying the name, for his hips bucked and he came in ropey spurts that shot out onto his steering wheel, his jacket, and even some made it onto the ceiling. It was a good orgasm, intense. He came a lot. 

Crowley shuddered, and let out a few groans. His eyes had squeezed shut during the orgasm, and he now slowly began to blink them open. The demon was panting after such an exertion, and took stock of where the mess had been made. With a snap of his fingers, the mess was gone, and his trousers were back on his body. He shook his head, trying to recapture his wits, started the car, and drove off into the London night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned, if you'd like, for the third and final installment of this little fic, to see Azira and Crowley's first time. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! :)


	3. The eagle at the fallen church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next night, Crowley and Aziraphale both find themselves back at the church wreckage, and they reveal things to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up being a bit longer than I wanted. 
> 
> Smut, angst, pining, and fears of suicide (implied)

The next night, Crowley went back to the ruins of the bombed church. He brought with him a metal vial and some long, black rubber gloves. His plan was to acquire some holy water from the font. He was pretty sure he’d protected it from the bomb, in addition to rescuing the books (and Bentley). If it had survived, it would certainly be one of the more ironic miracles he’d performed. 

He parked the Bentley a few blocks down from the church, and wandered over to the wreckage, only to find that he was not alone. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a golden figure digging through the rubble. 

Aziraphale had also come back to the church. 

The angel had felt somewhat guilty at the church being bombed, and had hoped to salvage whatever he could (if anything). Church records were his primary target, as they were often very informative and useful documents. Marriages, deaths, baptisms, papal visits—they all contained pieces of human history that really ought to be saved (if possible). 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale whined to himself, completely unaware that a demon was watching him. 

‘Bloody heaven,’ Crowley thought in panic, ‘What on earth is he doing here.’ 

The demon felt a mixture of joy at seeing Aziraphale, and fear. He wasn’t sure that he could face the angel after last night, and moreover, if Aziraphale discovered that Crowley’s purpose in returning to the church was to get holy water? 

Well, he’d rather avoid a confrontation. Obviously.

Aziraphale was, however, incredibly preoccupied with excavating the site. He’d ascertained where a back room of the church had been, and saw that there was a stairway leading down to a basement, but there was a large amount of rubble in the way (which included a rather magnificent stone eagle that had somehow avoided destruction). He really couldn’t afford another miracle, so he had to labor by hand. He had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, moving smaller bits of stone to clear a path downward.

Crowley slowly slinked up to the church, doing his best to stay in the shadows and behind any large bits of debris. He kept his eye on the angel, his heart beating fast, as he crept closer to the font. 

Then, right as Crowley was only a few feet away, Aziraphale (building up quite a sweat from the labor) felt the need to remove several layers of clothing, stripping off his waistcoat, unbuttoning the top part of his shirt, and revealing his glistening ivory skin underneath. 

The site caught the demon off-guard. He gasped and kicked a loose rock, which loudly pummeled its way into the font, and dropped his metal vial and gloves. 

Aziraphale looked up in surprise, and caught sight of a familiar, lanky figure creeping along the other side of the church wreckage.

“C-Crowley?” He yelled out, “Is that you?”

‘Ah, bugger it,’ Crowley thought before responding. 

“Hello Aziraphale,” he answered with a bit of bravado, trying to cover up the fact he was doing something illicit. “What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt at hearing Crowley respond, and felt completely overcome with euphoria. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Crowley since the night before, and he wasn’t sure when they would run into one another again. He immediately hobbled over the debris, and moved as quickly as he could towards the demon. 

“What are *you* doing here?” Aziraphale yelled back, as he sidled his way around a large stone, and stopped on a spot where the ground was even to get a good look at the demon.

Crowley stayed put, watching the angel approach. He tried to come up with a reason for being there—not a lie, he found it difficult to lie to Aziraphale, but—something. 

“Oh, well I—uh—“ Crowley looked at the angel and subconsciously glanced at the font. 

That’s when Aziraphale noticed the vessel of holy water suspiciously close to Crowley, his eyes darting back and forth between the demon and the font. He had taken note of the font’s resilience when he surveyed the wreckage earlier, but now he saw that it survived thanks to a demonic miracle. 

His heart fluttered and he became frantic, realizing that Crowley was going to get holy water for himself.

“Crowley, don’t you dare!” he shouted with a wavering, unsteady voice. He moved his way quickly through the rubble to reach the demon.

‘Ah, fuck…’ was all Crowley could think with a groan, realizing Aziraphale had uncovered his plan. 

“Don’t you dare, you fiend! Don’t you even think about it, not for a second,” Aziraphale kept yelling with sobs, until he was positioned halfway between the font and Crowley. He was crying now, tears streaming down his face, fearing losing Crowley forever. He felt like his chest was ripping him in two, and it felt like there was a lump stuck in his throat. 

But he stood firm, feet planted on the ground, absolutely ready to stop the demon from getting anywhere near the font.

Crowley was stunned at the scene, and he felt a warm tenderness flow from his heart. He never knew, never realized, that the angel cared for him so much. It hit him like…well, like a bomb. 

“Angel,” Crowley spoke with a soft voice, taking a step towards Aziraphale, “I—“

“Don’t, Crowley,” Aziraphale croaked in between sobs, taking a step towards the demon. “I can’t…I can’t—“

They each took another step towards each other, and with a trepidatious gasp, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him tightly, and burying his face in his shoulder to weep. 

Crowley nearly fainted at the touch, suddenly surrounded by a warmth and light that he only dreamed about, but never thought he would ever feel. He was shocked for a moment, unmoving, before he finally gave into the embrace. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, clutching the back of his shirt in tight fists, as he leaned his head down to Aziraphale and buried his face in the angel’s golden curls.

The demon soon found that he, too, began to weep, a soft stream of tears falling down his face and into Aziraphale's hair. He felt genuinely, utterly and completely loved. It was a sensation he hadn’t experienced since before the fall. It was wonderful, more wonderful than he remembered. 

Perhaps Aziraphale’s love was even better than the love of heaven.

“I can’t lose you, Crowley,” Aziraphale sobbed, lifting his face up from Crowley’s shoulder. His tears had dampened the fabric. “I couldn’t bear it. Please.”

Crowley was about to respond, when a car approached. Both angel and demon looked at the car, then one another, in panic at being caught. After all, it was a church that was bombed. Who knows if Gabriel or Hastur wanted to come poking about.

“This way, quick,” Aziraphale whispered, and he led Crowley by the hand to the stairway he had been excavating. They climbed their way over the rubble and down the stairs, hiding themselves below eye level. Crowley did a minor miracle (barely counts as one, really) and moved the stone eagle so that it blocked the entrance, effectively making it so the two trespassers were completely out of view of whoever was now getting out of their car and walking around the site. 

The stairway was dark and full of dust and debris. Crowley sat on a step with his back against the wall, looking up towards the surface. He only saw the eagle staring back at them, but he listened as voices seemed to take stock of the site above. His fedora had fallen down the steps—he’d have to get it later.

Aziraphale sat on the same step as Crowley, and was sitting very close to the demon, their thighs touching one another. He held Crowley’s hand still, grasping it to his chest, as he too looked up the stairway, listening to the muffled voices. They came close to the stairway, if only for a minute, and then slowly became softer and softer, as footsteps carried the speakers away.

Both Crowley and Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, and looked at one another. It suddenly struck both of them that they were physically very close, and both of their hearts (which had been beating quickly in fear of being caught) now beat with a wanton yearning. 

Crowley’s head was resting against the stone wall. His mouth was open as he panted, his tongue flickering out at the corner of his lips, and his chest was heaving with desire. He was working very, very hard at holding himself back, but he felt an intoxicating electricity at Aziraphale’s touch. His eyes were shielded by his dark lenses, but he stared deeply into the angel’s eyes, the whites of which were still slightly red from the tears.

Aziraphale breathed heavily, his mouth slightly agape as he urgently clutched Crowley’s hand to his chest. His whole body felt like it was melting with emotion, and he wanted, more than anything, to hold Crowley and never let him go, to meld with the demon, to protect him…to love him. His brow was raised as he searched the black lenses of demon’s glasses.

Crowley seemed to take the hint, and using his free hand, he removed the glasses so that the two were staring deep into each other’s eyes. 

The demon broke the silence first with a small whisper

“Aziraphale, I—“

But Aziraphale stopped him with a shush, bringing his gaze down to Crowley’s lips and softly touching them with the index finger of his free hand. 

“Shhh,” he uttered, his brow furrowed as he stared at the demon’s mouth intently. Crowley couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. ‘What is happening?’ he thought with lustful pangs rushing through his body. 

Aziraphale leaned in slowly, staring at Crowley’s lips, his brow still furrowed. He stopped short of touching them with his own, before he looked back into the demon’s eyes. Crowley, unable to speak, gave a modest nod, and Aziraphale slid his hand from Crowley’s mouth to cup his cheek, as they met with a soft, intense kiss. 

The touch of their lips caused minor explosions inside both of their minds, which went white with heat and electricity. They held their position for several moments, until Aziraphale eventually pulled back, looking up into Crowley’s eyes for a signal of approval. Crowley didn’t open his eyes at first, even after the angel pulled away, utterly savoring the moment. When he blinked, he saw two big, blue eyes searching his face, and the sight drove him wild. 

“Oh, Angel,” he moaned, and he wrapped his hand behind Aziraphale’s head and went back in for a second kiss, this time letting his tongue venture out over Aziraphale’s lips. The angel, feeling a sudden urge to taste the demon’s tongue, opened his mouth and let Crowley slide inside. Aziraphale moaned at the sensation, and their mouths made loud, wet, smacking noises.

Aziraphale’s hand moved from Crowley’s cheek to his hair, brushing some of the loosened strands away from his face. His other hand squeezed Crowley’s hand gently, before letting go and sliding up to the demon’s shoulder. 

Crowley kept his hand on Aziraphale’s chest for a few moments, before wrapping his arm around the angel and pulling him in closer. 

Their kisses were become more desperate, deeper, and more desirous of the other, as their tongues melded and mingled. The feeling, the taste, it all was a supernatural ecstasy that neither had heretofore experienced. 

They broke away from one another, and Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. 

“I need you, Crowley,” he panted in desperation. 

“I’m yours,” the demon responded with equal desperation, “Entirely. Anything you want. You have me.”

Aziraphale’s hands moved to take off Crowley’s jacket, and the demon helped him rip it off. The angel then moved to Crowley’s neck kissing, licking and nipping as the demon gave out small yelps of pleasure. Aziraphale tore at the demon’s shirt, ripping buttons in an effort to expose the skin underneath. He moved his kisses down the demon’s chest as he continued to attack the exposed skin. 

He worked his way down, moving down to a lower step, until Aziraphale’s lips were at the top of Crowley’s trousers, the demon’s chest completely exposed. Crowley was aroused, his erection pressing tightly against the fabric, and he moaned helplessly. Aziraphale saw that Crowley was throbbing with desire, and looked up at the demon’s face. 

Crowley stared down at the angel between his thighs, with desire and also a little worry. This was what he wanted, what he dreamed about for 6,000 years, and he could barely process that it was happening now, here, in the ruins of a church that no longer burned him. It was almost too much to bear.

Almost. 

“Angel,” he said softly, and brought a hand underneath Aziraphale’s chin, tilting his head upwards. His heart melted. “Aziraphale. You’re so…beautiful.”

Aziraphale broke out into a smile, his eyes twinkling. “Me?” he asked astounded. “I’m, well I--I'm, no. You, Crowley, you’re the beautiful one.”

Crowley chuckled softly. “Come here,” the demon beckoned, and Aziraphale moved back up the steps. Crowley took his jacket and his shirt, and situated them on the steps so that the angel could lie back on the stairway with a little comfort. It was a little physically awkward, but both of them were feeling so enraptured by sensations of exploring the other, that the pleasure greatly outweighed the discomfort. 

Crowley leaned down, looking at Aziraphale’s face. It was perfect, the curve of his nose, the softness of his cheeks, all filling Crowley with desire for the corporeal form that Aziraphale wore so well. Of course, Aziraphale could wear any form and Crowley would want it. But there was something sweet in the in the way the angel looked tonight, and Crowley thought it necessary to appreciate it. 

Aziraphale stared up at the demon, his lovely amber eyes staring wantonly at his face. He felt exposed, the way he had last night, and the feeling scared him. But he needed Crowley, he needed Crowley to stay. He would do anything to make sure that Crowley stayed, and knew that he was desired. Needed. Loved. 

And he wanted this, even if it was moving fast for him. He knew he wanted it. He very, very much wanted it. He shoved aside the fear that he had felt last night, and worked to stay in the moment.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured delicately into Aziraphale’s ear, moving his hand down the angel’s chest and Aziraphale suddenly felt something aching in his groin. It was an erection—the first erection the angel had ever had. 

He now wanted Crowley even more than he had before, only this time the want was located in a specific place. 

“Angel, I have desired for you for so long…” Crowley whispered, as he stared deeply into Aziraphale’s eyes. 

At hearing this, Aziraphale decided he was no longer going to contain himself. He was going to give himself completely to Crowley that night. The panic that he felt earlier at losing the demon was taken over by a desire to possess him completely. 

He grabbed Crowley, kissed him hard, and bit his lower lip. The demon let out a small cry, feeling exhilarated at the fervor his partner showed him. Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s trousers, and Crowley hastily fumbled with the belt. Aziraphale likewise undid his belt, and wiggled off his trousers and underthings completely. 

“Please, oh please Crowley, be with me,” Aziraphale moaned, as he wrapped his legs around Crowley. The demon fell forward, his hands on he step just below Aziraphale’s head. They could feel each of their erections pressing into one another, and Aziraphale slowly gyrated his hips. The feeling caused Crowley to hiss with desire, as he ground his erection into his partner beneath. Crowley was panting with hot breaths that covered Aziraphale, whose eyes were shut tight as he took in the sensations. 

“Touch me,” Aziraphale commanded, and Crowley took a hand and gently wrapped it around Aziraphale’s cock, and pumped. Aziraphale gasped with pleasure, the corners of his mouth turning up into a heavenly smile. Crowley’s mind raced with desire and his cock twitched against Aziraphale. 

“How do you want me?” Crowley asked, wanting to give Aziraphale whatever he wanted. 

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, slightly confused. He looked up at the writhing demon on top of him, whose snakelike eyes bore deeply into him. 

Suddenly, a wave of realization struck him, and he had to acknowledge that he was enjoying the feeling of being completely covered by Crowley. 

“I think I’m rather—ahh, yes—-rather enjoying you on top.”

Crowley nodded, and slowly let go of Aziraphale’s cock, and moved his fingers around to his backside. Using another small demonic miracle, his hands became slick, and he slid one finger inside the angel, whose face softened with euphoric pleasure, a groan echoing out of his smiling lips. 

The demon worked in Aziraphale, feeling and massaging around, noting that if he hooked just there, it drove the angel wild. Eventually he added another finger, then another, until finally Aziraphale was open enough to be mounted. 

“I want you, Angel,” Crowley said as he twirled inside Aziraphale. 

“Oh, please Crowley. Be with me. Be in me. Don’t stop. Don’t leave me. Don’t stop.”

The begging was all too intense for Crowley, who slid his erection inside Aziraphale. 

Both emitted low groans. Aziraphale’s hips bucked, and Crowley had to stave off from thrusting with wild abandon. His partner felt warm, and the lubricant made everything slick. Aziraphale was completely awash in pleasure at feeling completely filled by partner. 

“Oh, fuck Angel,” Crowley growled, as Aziraphale’s body wriggled beneath him in ecstasy. Aziraphale bit his lip to stave off a moan that he feared would be rather loud. Crowley sat up to look down at their connection, watching as he slowly dragged his cock in and out of Aziraphale. Aziraphale twirled his hips and spread his legs as wide as he could, allowing Crowley do go deeper and deeper. 

Crowley grabbed around one of Aziraphale’s thighs, clawing at the flesh, while he used his other hand to gently pump Aziraphale’s cock. 

“Oooh!” yelped Aziraphale at the stimulation. He’d never felt anything so pleasurable in his corporeal form, and he felt a heat build up in intense waves of passion. His face tensed as an orgasm slowly built up. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah Aziraphale,” Crowley growled at seeing the angel’s face tense and feeling his ass clench with the approaching orgasm. He began to lose his self control and he fell forward, using the hand that had been around Aziraphale’s thigh to brace his fall. He kept his other hand pumping the angel’s dick, moving faster and faster as Aziraphale began to buck his hips and moan wildly. 

Crowley thrust harder, and more deeply, feeling his own orgasm rise to the surface. 

“Angel, look at me,” he commanded, and Aziraphale opened his eyes to find Crowley’s serpentine eyes staring directly into his. They both gasped as Crowley pumped harder and thrusted deeper and deeper. Aziraphale began to come first, his mouth open in a perfect 'oh' as he grunted out his pleasure while staring deeply into Crowley's lusful eyes. His cum spurted out between the two of them, creating a sticky mess on both of their stomachs. Crowley came almost immediately afterwards, exploding deep inside of Aziraphale with stifled groans, at last bucking his hips with a final wave of pleasure. 

They stopped and looking at one another, panting, and covered with beads of sweat. The lovemaking hadn't lasted as long as it might have, but it was still incredible. Crowley had a look of utter satisfaction on his face, as his lips turned up into a rare smile. Azirphale licked his lips and nodded, while Crowley slowly removed himself from the angel. The demon looked up and saw the stone eagle, staring at them. 

They remained in silence for some time, letting their wits come back to them. 

“Thank you,” Crowley said.

“Don’t mention it,” Aziraphale answered, rather matter of factly, still trying to process the whole event. “Just, don’t go about trying to get holy water.”

Crowley was silent. 

“Promise me, Crowley.”

“I can’t promise you that, Angel.” 

Aziraphale grew upset. 

“You absolute fiend,” he spat, and he found his clothes and got dressed.

“Angel,” Crowley said. “Please angel, just—stay with me, stay a while. Let’s…talk.”

“No, Crowley,” the angel said decidedly. “I think I’ve stayed here quite long enough. I can’t be caught…fraternizing with you.”

Crowley winced at this. 

“Fine, Aziraphale. Go. But I know you don’t want to.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but shot him a look. His clothes were back on, and he hiked up the steps to the eagle. He stopped, unable to get out and storm off like he wanted, so he cleared his throat with a haughty little cough. 

‘That little prick,’ Crowley thought, as he snapped his fingers with a roll of the eye, moving the eagle aside so that Aziraphale could escape. 

“Goodnight, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a pompous sense of finality, and he stormed off. When he passed the font, he decided to do one small miracle (which he may regret later if Gabriel sent another note). With a wave of his hand, the font fell over and the water dried up. He then left the scene.

Crowley sighed, and collected his clothes and got dressed. As he walked up the stairs, he stared at the stone eagle. He sighed, and with a snap, the eagle appeared in the back of his Bentley. 

…..

Several decades later

Aziraphale walked into Crowley’s apartment. It was the first time he’d ever been inside. He was tired, tired from having fought heaven and hell, but also tired of running. He’d been hiding from Crowley, from his own feelings, for so long, but now there was no need to. Crowley went to go fetch some more alcohol from somewhere, and that’s when Aziraphale saw it—the eagle. 

It was the same eagle from the church the night they first has sex. It now graced the interior of Crowley’s apartment. 

Crowley approached Aziraphale, handing him a glass filled with a honey-colored liquid. 

“Crowley, is this…” he began, motioning towards the eagle. “Is this from the church?”

Crowley bit his bottom lip for a moment. 

“Oh, uh, well, yeah…” his voice trailed off. 

Aziraphale met his lips with a long, tender kiss. 

“My dear,” he said. “I love you.”

Crowley’s heart swelled at hearing this. He’d longed to hear this for so long. He smiled.

“Angel. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I enjoy experimenting with POV stories that come together at the end. Not sure it works, but it's fun to practice writing. If you like this, check out my other story, and leave a comment! 
> 
> I'm also debating which story to do next: one that takes place with Crowley tempting St. Antony (as mentioned in the earlier chapters), and Aziraphale trying to thwart him; or one that takes place during the face swap (though the market might be saturated with those)! If you have an opinion, let me know in the comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
